Love Elixir
by Ahaanzel
Summary: Cloud's mother's 'brilliant ideas' usually turned out to be disastrous. This one was no exception. Someone Mysterious/Cloud, one-sided!Cloud/Zack; at some point one-sided!everyone/Cloud; original game canon only
1. Chapter 1

Because I haven't seen this cliche in FFVII fandom yet.

* * *

It would take an IQ below fly's level not to notice that something was very wrong with Cloud Strife. Maybe it wasn't all that obvious at the first glance, but the second one left no doubt that it was moping and sulking, not just the usual seriousness the trooper displayed and that his reluctant cheerfulness as well as good-natured expressions were overtaken by depressive mood. Far-away look in dull, blue eyes along with over-dramatic, theatrical almost, sighs (on average, twelve per hour), completed a perfect example of typical, teenage anxiety connected with a thing commonly known as a 'crush'. For crush was what Cloud had, indeed.

And it sucked.

He sighed.

He lived though his years-long interest for his neighbor, Tifa – so totally off limits! – but this one was definitely much worse, because Cloud had the hots -

- insert dramatic pause here -

- for a man.

His friend.

His _best, _not to mention only friend, to tell the truth. The one known by the name of Zack Fair.

But such statement, one that _**obviously**_ nobody would ever foresee coming, is ought to be backed up by a satisfactory explanation.

For quite some time Cloud was _uncertain_. Seeing Zack didn't make his heart throb and neither did the SOLDIER's absence cause it to grow fonder – but when he went on long missions, he realized, with a child-like wonder, he began daydreaming about meeting him on the flower's field, for some reason. Then again, after his failure at SOLDIER send him into full-scale emo-mode, before he could notice what he was doing, he was knocking at the door to Zack's place, looking for some kind of comfort. And even though there was no burning desire running through his veins, for Zack's sake he could do literary everything (he didn't dare to image what possibly it could entail). Still, he didn't know what it was between them – friendship or, maybe... Maybe...

...love?

Seemingly innocent, four-letter-long word flashed before his eyes and, to the sound of the warning bells ringing at the realization's terror, his mind temporary shutdown to prevent possible further damage.

And then, the drama started.

Sad thing, his experience with both, friendship and the love, was equally non-existent. But really, no-one could hold it against Cloud that his perception of them was, let's say, _slightly_ twisted. He could only compare his present situation to the thing that he had with Tifa; he thought it was one-sided 'something more' though she insisted they had been 'best friends ever', no matter the fact he could count on the fingers of his one hand all the times they actually talked before he left his home for Midgar. (And there had also been all those Wutaian soap operas his mother forced him to watch with her, where the protagonists regularly felt in love at the first sight and the scheme of relationships between the characters created a fractal.)

Needless to say, questions, ranging from despaired, heart-wrenching 'how can it be?' to more cool-headed 'what the...?', were running through his mind, bouncing of his brain-case's bones and he feared his head was going to explode. Imagination supplied him with nightmares concerning his mother committing a ritual murder on him for not giving her grandchildren; when he woke up in the morning, all sweaty and out of breath, he pinched his arms and blessed the distance between Midgar and Nibelheim reducing the chances of his only parent killing him in his sleep. He spaced out dreaming about holding hands with Zack and looking into his eyes, only to internally lament one second later that it will never happen – the fact Zack was currently in quite serious relationship with some girl from below the Plate only made the matters worse - and then freak out at how girly it was. All the while his brain – and he was painfully aware of that after reading an article in one scientific journal – was enjoying itself with the synapses spitting out neurotransmitters on the overdrive.

(_Chemical reaction, that's all it is_, what was left of Cloud's rationality concluded.)

He sighed.

To add one more thing to this mess, he's mother was about to call any time now.

His mother seemed to develop a sixth sense; she could always tell when something was going on with Cloud, whether physically or mentally. At times it might have been a good thing, but more often that not, it wasn't, because along with aforementioned doubtful, especially in Cloud's eyes, gift, she also got a nasty habit of calling his squad commander's office _constantly_ and demand from the man to get her son on the phone. Then, she would proceed to squeeze out of Cloud detailed report of what have been happening lately, then come up with brilliant, only in her own opinion, solution to whatever problem he had, then threaten him to do that or else.

(The meaning behind those two words was 'or I come all the way to Midgar and do it myself, embarrassing you greatly on my way through'. Never once it failed to gain Cloud's obedience.)

Oh, the grief other ShinRa guards were giving him for that.

And of course she wouldn't listen that it's not worthy to act on those sappy affections, this sentiment blown out of proportion that will _hopefully_ pass away sometime soon, because she knew better. But he really did have this whole crush worked out; just, his heart had yet to caught up with what his head was already aware of – and that was, he supposed, the source of the drama.

That was why, while one side of him was suffering, drown in infinite sorrow, the not-infatuated side of Cloud, the one wiser above his sixteen years, waited impatiently for things to come back to normal. Till that time, so to not fuel his stupid crush, he discretely avoided Zack and carried on, day after day, like he always did. Wake up, go train, pass by Sephiroth on the way to the mess, grab something relatively edible to eat, go patrol, run into Sephiroth at some point, patrol some more, go to sleep.

(If Cloud had been a bit more aware of his surroundings, long ago he would have noticed and wondered, how come a mere trooper was running into Sephiroth, of all people, so often. But Cloud was too busy being all depressed with his one-sided feelings to care.)

Cloud sighed.

It was affecting his behavior too. Apart from constant jumps from depressed to dreamy happy, he became embarrassingly romantic in the hopelessly exalted way. He contemplated star-light sky through the dirty windows of his quarter and wondered why there are so many black spots on the moon. He sighed, detached, while going through the drills, what in turn caused his sergeant to hyperventilate in an outrage. He picked on his food with no appetite, reflecting on how it sucked to oh, _yearn_ for something he can't have. And when he saw people satisfied with their love lives chatting happily, he felt like gouging their eyes out, for they had **no idea **neither how much he hurt, nor how dull functioning with a broken heart was.

- _chemical reaction, just chemical reaction_, the shreds of his rationality repeated like a mantra -

And he was distracted all the time.

Like now. Which floor was he patrolling? Sixty? Sixty-two? No matter, he didn't care anyway. He walked down the corridor apathetically – bunch of terrorists might have as well pass right by him, screaming and firing at everything on their way and he wouldn't notice – indulging himself a little with a daydream concerning himself, Zack and a field of flowers for some reason.

Yes, he could see it clearly. He was sitting on a white blanket, reading poems in willow tree's shade. Or maybe not – he was sitting on a swing. Its strings where decorated with white lilies and he could feel a faint scent of sweet flowers in the air. Then, he raised his head to see smiling SOLDIER running towards him – in slow motion, of course – and breath was caught in his throat, as his mind's eye showed him the way daylight danced in imaginary Zack's pupils, glowing with Mako and pure happiness, and love in its most sappy version. His wild, black hair were being caressed gently by spring's wind, smelling sweetly of first words of affection, embarrassingly whispered on the ear just to bring to live a hot blush, like first, uncertain kiss did...

Sudden urge to grab a pen and write down a crappy love poem on the closest, flat surface – even a wall would do – abandoned him the moment he collided with some solid object.

He blinked, being quite brutally brought back to reality. He was starring at a bare, very muscled, man's chest, positioned right before his eyes. Cloud raised his head slowly, to met eerie green eyes looking back at him. His mind, completely on its own record, picked up all distinguishing marks such as black coat, long hair and even longer sword, processed them and spilled out reflective information, supplying Cloud obligingly with the knowledge that the person, who had invaded his personal space, was recognized as highest ranking SOLDIER officer, Sephiroth.

Had it taken place two weeks ago, Cloud would have already started to panic, being overexcited and scared to death at the same time, and swallow his tongue for sure as an effect of stuttering his apologizes, or just die on the spot. However, it happened now - and what it was in comparison to his own pain and emotional turmoil? Loneliness in his sorrow, awaiting for his heart to die, so it could shake off the most tender feelings and harden, so he would forget about yet another scar marring his soul? Who was his childhood hero, who in the glory of victory had never tasted the bitterness of Cloud's existence?

Oh, the misery of all beings walking underneath the heartless stars on this veil of tears!

"Beg your pardon, sir" sounding worn out, Cloud said in monotone like a man, who, in the darkest depths of despair, was forced to deal with another obstacle on his path but was too tired to deal with it; at the moment, the obstacle being Sephiroth, blissfully ignorant to his suffering. Cloud raised his hand to salute, in exhausted manner, and then passed by the greatest SOLDIER officer on the Planet's surface, going back to his teenage drama, in which he was more interested in.

He sighed.

When would the damn crush finally fade? There's got to be a way to make such things disappear quicker. It would probably be easier, if there was someone interested in him, who would get Zack out of his head (at least it always worked like that in soap operas his mother watched religiously every afternoon). But who on earth would fall for someone like him?

Irony was laughing so hard, its non-existing stomach hurt.

* * *

Later that night, somewhere in the ShinRa Tower – and why anyone would assume it was in SOLDIER Firsts' office, I have no idea – an extremely important, top-secret emergency meeting took place. Two, very Mysterious Persons – no-one would ever guess who - were sitting at the desk, facing each other. Silence fell upon them, as they exchanged knowing glances, contemplating the gravity of the situation. Their shadows felt on the pool of the moonlight, shining through carefully closed windows – in case there was some lost Turk hanging of the rain gutter, keen on eavesdropping, since he coincidentally happened to pass by.

One of The Shadows shifted a little and the following words broke the spell.

"He doesn't notice me" came an exclamation, being a cross between wail and astonished, yet unpleasant, realisation. Of course, to not properly trained ears it would sound neutral, perfectly void of emotions.

"It's kind of hard not to notice you" The Other laughed and shook his head a bit; The Second Shadow's spiky hair bounced. "I mean, with your height and built you take up about, I'd say, half of people's visual field."

"How amusing. And not exaggerated at all."

"Ouch, and you're all sarcastic again. No wonder you're so afraid you'll scare him away, if you march up and tell him about your feelings. He'd probably think he's in hidden camera."

"Shut up" and there was something threatening in his voice, so the subject was graciously abandoned. "I'm just... concerned" it was quite embarrassing, it seemed, for The Man to converse about feelings more tender than hatred. The First Shadow swirled a lock of his long hair around his finger in nervous habit. "Have you seen him lately? There's something wrong with him."

A sigh.

"Yeah, I noticed that too. I told him I can help with whatever is bothering him, but he won't say a word" The Second Man replied and run his fingers through his hair, frustrated. And then he asked random question. "So, your secretary called in sick?"

Pause.

"What does that have to do with anything?" The Other Man's expression must have spoken louder than words, because what came next was "...don't tell me you think about what I think you're thinking."

"That was awfully unsophisticated way of phrasing for a man, who has read definitions of all the words in the dictionary. Twice. So it's true what they say about, you know, fools and love" Mysterious Person Number Two teased and his shadow gesticulated animatedly as he spoke. "...I should probably shut up now, right?"

"Right" was a reply voiced out in tone so cold the words almost froze in the air. "And what can I say, there's not much of a point in being eloquent around you. To successfully communicate one has to use words understandable to whom he's talking with. And don't change the subject" The Shadow raised its palm at The Other Man's short intake of breath. "The answer is **NO**. In capital letters and bold font."

"Oh come on. It'd be a shame to let such opportunity, for you two to meet, slip! And by 'meeting' I mean an official introduction, not that stalker-thing you've been doing."

Reluctance.

"After lots of explanation on my part, we both agreed it's not a good idea to just bring him here and force him to meet you, saying 'I want my friends to become friends too, deal with this', in alternative version the ending being 'suck it bitches', remember?" Mysterious Person Number Two asked slowly, carefully pronouncing each word, as if he was talking to very slow kindergartner child. "It would be unnatural, not to mention awkward."

"I'm not convinced."

"Oh, for the love of...!" the other man exclaimed in exasperation. Whose love he had on mind will remain a mystery forever, because the word he said, for those not fluent in Gongagan dialect, sounded like unrepeatable bunch of syllables with lots of '_ch'_s and '_q'_s_._ "Just leave it to me. Everything will go smoothly."

And for all he knew it should have gone smoothly. He was blissfully unaware, though, that many miles away from Midgar lived certain somebody, called by the ShinRa's squad commanders _master of evil_ – and was plotting too.

"...By the way, why did you bring Masamune here? I left my Buster at home."


	2. Chapter 2

Forgot to warn you before - English is my second language ^.^ (and I have emotional attachment to British _lift_).

* * *

"Sir?", Cloud knocked politely and peered through half-open door "Sir, did you want to..." he hesitated upon seeing the telltale thin, perfectly straight line on his squad commander's face, where his lips were ought to be "see me...?" And there was also that large vein bobbing up on the man's temple.

Not good. It meant, there could be none other, currently on line, than one particular person.

"- And here's your big boy" malice couldn't even begin to describe the way Cloud's direct superior spat out those word into telephone's receiver.

For a moment, Cloud's catatonic-alike depression broke and he felt desperate need to disappear, or even better, cease to exist, under deadly glare of the commander's, at the moment, mad eyes. It was promising lots of pain, and humiliation, but yeah, mostly just suffering. Also, small, but very insistent voice woke up in his head and urged him just to flee from there and run for his live.

But before he could suitably react, sorrow and misery kicked in again, not pleased that some ridiculous 'self-preservation instinct' dared to take their place, and Cloud decided his superior didn't stand a chance against The Broken Heart.

To sum up, Cloud stepped into the office.

"Really Strife", said his superior, and his large palm covered the microphone to ensure an illusion of privacy "every single night I pray to all the gods willing to hear me out, for the day, when they finally promote you and give you your own, damn PHS. That moment would be just so beautiful, I'd sleep with it." And after short pause, to clarify, he added "it's that woman, _again_."

"_Hey, I heard that! And I'm not finished with you yet, you...!_" his mother's muffled voice came from the phone, his squad's commander was one brain cell away from smashing against the nearest wall.

"Make it quick" the commander snarled, thrusting the phone into Cloud's hands, with too much force than absolutely necessary, and stormed out of his office.

Uh.

"Um... Mom...?" he asked quietly, not sure what to expect. For all he knew, his only parent might have still been in the spitting-out-poison, three-headed-monster mode she always pulled on his superior, no matter he pleaded her like, thousand times already, not to do that; his words constantly fell on deaf ears (because she had simply too much fun doing that).

Another thing to add to the, oh, _anguish_ of his existence.

He sighed.

"_Sweetie!"_ his mother squealed in complete change of heart. Cloud discretely breathed out in relief. _"How's it going?"_she asked and before he could even reply, _"I was sooooo worried about you! What were you doing? Who did you fall in love with?"_

"Everything's fine", he sighed at motherly never-ending worriment, his own problems in the form of unrequited feelings and other potentially disastrous global issues in general "you shouldn't have worried so -"

wait...

what?

How could she possibly know...?

Okay, it was a dumb question. Or maybe only an incredibly naive one.

_All the nations, behold the power of Sylvia Strife's sixth sense_, he thought dryly. But he wasn't going down without a fierce fight. Not this time, at least.

"Where did the last one come from?" he honestly hoped it sounded like rightfully wierded-out astonishment. "I'm not in love with _anyone_" he pressed, trying, at the same time, to appear amused at a mere thought his mother would suspect anything like that. _Ridiculous!,_ was the impression his voice carried.

Raising an eyebrow didn't make a sound – but Cloud could swear his ears were able, somehow, to detect it. Of course she didn't buy it. Who was he trying to fool?

"_My, my Cloud. There are still so many things you need to learn"_ many miles away from Midgar, Miss Strife shook her head a little and her tone informed Cloud she was giving the phone, in his stead, a pitying look.

Somewhere behind her, the innkeeper – and owner of the only phone in whole Nibelheim (even mayor Lockheart The Buffoon didn't have one in his sorry excuse for a residence) – cleared his throat significantly, clearly annoyed she was still using the device (_does that crazy, old witch have any idea how much one minute to Midgar costs? _was what he, probably, was thinking), but upon receiving an evil glare, send above Miss Strife's shoulder, as well as mouthed, good-hearted advice _go kill yourself_, he suddenly remembered he's needed elsewhere.

"Your last letter oozed the dark-and-glum, my-heart-is-torn-in-two attitude. Plus those grandiloquent metaphors – please, tell me you didn't take on writing poetry – left not much to wonder about. So, who is it?"

Tense silence.

"Cloud" she warned in low tone, much like a predator about to strike.

Nervous shifting on his feet. Running fingers through his hair. Mumbling incoherent sounds under his breath.

Finally, long exhale. And here it goes.

"_I don't know what are you talking about."_

She scowled. No, it wasn't the answer she expected. Not quite. Having decided the message wasn't understandable enough, she repeated "WHO IS IT, MY DEAR SON."

Defeated sigh. Her lips involuntarily curled in a smirk. Now, that's what she was talking about.

"_...It's Zack"_ Cloud whispered, embarrassed and anxious in anticipation for the prelude to apocalypse which surely would follow his words.

Sounding as if she was mentally crossing the name out of her list of things of any importance, she inquired, dismissively, to be sure "you mean, Fair? That little second class you've been yapping about since the last fall?"

- Irrelevant as it may look like at the beginning, let's see why exactly Miss Strife called her only child. For worriment, I assure you, wasn't the only the thing that woman had on mind. -

She saw no reason to share it with Cloud, but for some time now her dreams were plagued by the same vision. She was standing on top of a cliff, shrouded in brilliant light, in the glory of almighty goddess, beautiful and terrible – and all shall love her and despair!

...But getting back to the point; before her feet, in a gesture of submission to her obvious superiority, knelt the greatest power in the world – for some reason, it had silver hair – and in humble words begged for her mercy. (She admitted, the whole concept seemed like a pleasant experience.) And when she woke up from her slumber, there was this lingering certainty her dream had everything to do with Cloud. (Especially his love and, in process, her blessing.)

Cloud, who, she bet, had no idea something extremely important was going on.

And it seemed she was right.

"_Mom!"_ came undignified cry of outrage but she could tell her son was unnerved, since her reaction was totally **not** what he saw coming, _"I'm not yapping! And Zack was promoted to first class six months ago!"_

She prided her will power for resting the urge to say _so what?_

"Sorry, sweetie, you're right. You're definitely _not_ yapping. I merely reduced your words of admiration for him into the background noise."

Stunned silence this time. He was probably reflecting on sheer incredibility of the fact that yes, she was the woman who gave him birth, indeed.

His squad commander had troubles believing it too.

"_...Anyway, it's nothing, really, just a stupid crush"_, Cloud started his feverish string of explanations and excuses, _"no big deal and it's going to pass soon...-"_

Miss Strife tuned down her son's helpless babbling.

Of course it was nothing more than a stupid crush. She knew all that was to know about them, since 'crush' was the sole reason she run away from home, at the tender age of sixteen, with soon-to-be pilot slash astronaut wannabe – who was charming in unique, crude way of his – only to end up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, abandoned in the last trimester of pregnancy. Was she ever to meet that man again, she would rip off his balls and make telegraphic wires out of them.

(Maybe that's why monthly orders from Rocket Town for her potions and ethers were always send by anonymous purchaser.)

Still. Cloud's being an idiot she could forgive, because being her flesh and blood was enough to earn it. Mysterious 'the greatest power in the world' Someone, however, wasn't which meant it was up to That Person to take an action. And since aforementioned Someone, as it seemed, wasn't about to make his move, in the end, as always, she was the one who had to save the day. Though she refused to do all the work, mind you; she was merely going to spice things up a little.

She even had a decent idea how.

Yeah, if skillfully manipulated, jealousy was very a very useful tool in the grand scheme of things.

(Said conclusion was one of the features all Wutaian soap operas had in common.)

"Here's what you'll do", she cut in Cloud's monologue, not caring at all what he tried – and failed – to talk he into "you'll give him a drink spiked with love elixir."

The Strife family made a living brewing potions, ethers, elixirs and any other liquids of any magical worth in general. Since Cloud joined ShinRa's army, business has been pretty slow; without his help preparing highly demanded, but with very complicated formulas, hi- and x-potions wasn't cost-effective anymore. But she didn't throw away yet few elixirs, products of her juvenile curiosity, which caused rather unusual effects.

Love elixir, poisonously-pink, disturbingly glowing, was one of them.

"_No"_, whined Cloud like a small, dying animal.

She ignored him.

"I enhanced it in my free time", she loyally supplied him with this piece of information "it's no longer a primitive one inducting _love at a very first sight_." To those not accustomed to Miss Strife's habit of omitting the obvious – well, in her own opinion at least; she meant, it will not make whoever is going to drink it fall for the first person he'll see afterwards. "Pull out one hair and add it to the elixir. Once it dissolves, elixir will be ready for use", she carefully instructed.

It never occurred to her she was acting like her despised neighbors did while sharing recipes for theirs 'infamous' cakes.

"_I'm not doing this"_ oh, denial. Too bad, too sad, they will move to acceptance soon anyway.

"Yes, you will", she persuaded patiently.

The innkeeper tapped his food at her, annoyed, from the other side's of what he insisted on calling 'a reception hall', safe distance, but wisely left the room as she snarled at him.

"_No, I won't"_, apparently Cloud decided to be stubborn.

"Yes, sweetie, you will, OR ELSE" what it was exactly remained unsaid, though, by implication, she just _dared_ him to make her finish.

"_...Okay, fine, whatever" _he responded quickly.

She smiled. Yep, that's her good boy. "How convenient, sweetie!" her laughter came out a little too demonic than intended – she was talking with her child, after all. "Since I already send it to you!" oh, it was terrific. "You should get it by tomorrow's afternoon." Awfully soon, giving the distance between Nibelheim and Midgar, but, oh well – let's just say that Sylvia Strife, if needed, had her ways.

"_...Why am I not surprised?"_ sighed Cloud, sounding pretty worn-out.

"Oh, be quiet. You'll thank me later."

"_Can't wait"_, having ignored his sarcasm she decided, she couldn't wait either. Romances were so much more exciting in real life settings!

"Call the inn, to tell me how it worked", if this conversation had been written, not spoken, her words would have been followed by bunch of enigmatic sings, such as semicolon and bracket, then a colon and many, many asterisks. Probably a secret code of some kind.

"_Yeah, I'll try"_, she could tell, judging by his voice, Cloud reached this stage where nothing really made any difference anymore.

"Love you, sweetie", she singsonged, because once Miss Strife succeeded in forcing someone into obedience, she could go back to being lovely and sweet.

"_Love you too, mom"_, he ensured her and hung up.

The innkeeper, who waited impatiently, in the shadows, for this moment, barged into the 'reception hall' with intention to snatch his phone from the crazy woman's evil clutches, but froze in his tracks, terrified, once Miss Strife, pleased with having done a good job, -

- because, who knew? Maybe what she just set up was the flutter of butterfly's wings which will cause a storm on the other side of the Planet? Maybe it will prevent death, insanity and, in a way, save the world? -

- burst out laughing.

And some laughter it was. Its sound was like demons' horde chuckle, coming from the darkest depths of hell. Dogs started to howl, infants in cribs cried and frightened Nibelheim citizens, with terror on their faces, hurriedly closed the shutters.

Many miles away, the highest ranking SOLDIER officer Sephiroth suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

* * *

Cloud walked out of the office in a daze, feeling as if a Particular Someone had just smacked his head – or rather, shattered a bottle of some hard liquor against it. He fought to keep carefully blank expression intact, though the neutral mask could barely hold its place, kicked constantly by incoming hysteria and despair. The urge to burst out laughing in a way suggesting the poor thing had finally lost it, was also difficult to dismiss. And maybe it wouldn't be far from truth, since about three minutes ago reality got new, pretty interesting, if not disturbing, surrealistic edge.

_Don't think about it. Pretend it never happened, _his inner-voice, the one keeping hold on the shreds of his rationality, instructed him firmly.

And yes, he could play along the 'pretend it never happened' part, _with pleasure_. If he just refuse to acknowledge to what exactly, though reluctantly, had he just agreed, then maybe the power of the universe would do its best to cut out the last fifteen minutes of his life.

...It would do it, right?

Right. Autosuggestion was a miraculous force, after all.

Giving his daily duties were already finished, going straight back to his quarters, muttering to his room-mates he's not feeling well, and crashing on his bunk to absentmindedly admire the plaster peeling of the wall, was a very tempting idea. Yes, laying mindlessly on his side and visualizing white, empty spaces, was a good way to spend next few – or, a dozen or so – hours. The wound was all too fresh to safely recall what had happened, without risking a serious, mental damage. Only after the satisfactory amount of time passed away, Cloud would allow himself to react accordingly.

And freak out.

Because really,

_**Love Elixir...?**_

Had Cloud been asked, at that very moment, to express himself verbally, he would have started muttering frantically under his breath, giving away a textbook example's signs of hyperventilation, and waving his hands helplessly, for better emphasis, to finally, due to not being able to complete the task, just scream out his frustration and horror.

And then, after calming down a bit:

Where did she get this _(incredibly lame)_ evil – but no, it wasn't the right word; this... _(incredibly lame, then?)_ ridiculous...! - nope, it didn't cover it either; this absurd _(incredibly lame, I said!)_ AND incredibly lame – where did it come from, huh – idea from?

(Okay, stupid question. He knew, from the very beginning, the Wutaian soap operas were to blame.)

Like he didn't have enough of his sorry excuse of _romance_ without his mother's brilliant – he made a face as if he was going to be sick sometime soon – solutions which eventually caused even more problems.

Then again, what if she wasn't 'helping him out' this time, in the twisted way of hers, but punishing him for robbing her out of her dreams of future daughter-in-law (_hopefully an older one, who would look after him_, she ensured he had it memorized)? Because she took the big news 'I have crush on a guy' which, in perspective, meant 'sorry, ma'am, no grandchildren for you to spoil rotten' awfully well.

Which must have meant that she **was up** to SOMETHING.

He sighed

But now was neither right place, nor time, to reflect on that. Not when the plaster peeling of his quarter's wall was calling out his name, temptingly. To embrace the blessing of spacing out and turning over in his thoughts nothing-at-all, he merely had to quietly sneak out from there and not to bump into someone, who felt like socializing. Like Zack – automatically inserted dreamy sigh here – for example.

So, taking it under consideration, there was really no way there could be anyone else, standing about twenty meters away from the office's entrance, next to his squad commander (who, in order to relief the stress, was repeatedly punching the wall – and for a moment Cloud entertained the idea to joint him, only he would use his head, not fist, to do that), but -

- collective gasp of surprise -

- Zack Fair himself. Blissfully unaware of the leading role he unintentionally played in Cloud's teenage drama.

Which abruptly, in full force strike, pushing away other matters to stress about – like, for instance, _**Love Elixir**_, went back to life in the form of _longing_ and _yearning,_ and the damn flower's field.

...Curses! It was just his luck to run into one person he was sweating his guts out to avoid.

He sighed.

Though, he decided, it was still worth a shot.

Not about to waste any more time, he turned around and setting a pace slow enough not to appear suspicious, he headed out for the nearest lift. And once he got _hopeful_ – some people would rather say, _naive_ – impression it might actually work -

"Hey, Cloud! Wait up!"

- well, let's just say he wasn't under the illusion anymore.

He froze, upon the sound of his (admitted with much despair and anguish, and sulking) just friend's voice, and for one second seriously considered dashing out from there through the nearest door, staircase, or window. The fact he was currently on the fortieth floor, somehow didn't cross his mind.

Unfortunately, one second was all it took the SOLDIER to close the distance between them and before Cloud could mentally prepare, Zack's heavy arm was already around his shoulders -

- _pair of cuffs closed over his wrists _-

- in innocent, friendly gesture.

Cloud's personal hell broke loose.

Rush of conflicted feelings, dreamy-like happiness and panic, elation and horror, delicate blush and dread (synapses barely kept up with spitting out neurotransmitters), but most of all, the immunological reaction of his mind, know by the name 'I need to get out of here, A.S.A.P.'

"I've been looking for you, and I even talked this over with your squad commander, and he said it's okay – and I'm so glad, since it saved us lots of troubles -" Zack began one his famous monologues, gently steering Cloud to wherever the SOLDIER's destination was "- sooooo, the job is only from nine to three pm and thanks to that you can go through the drills in the afternoon, and it's easy, as far as I can tell, at least, and not tiring at all, I think, and I know 'SOLDIER firsts' sounds, well, pompous, but in fact it's only for Sephiroth, 'cause only Sephiroth needs it."

Jerking out of his small, existential crisis, Cloud managed to say "...huh?"

And when did they get into the lift?

"- And you're just filling in, so it's only for two, three weeks tops; it's awful, really, she ate this strange, orange seafood Wutaians are crazy about, for some reason, and it turned out it wasn't fresh; personally, I'm not surprised, the chief was a shady type of guy, you know what I mean -"

"Zack", he cut in, once the SOLDIER had to stop for a millisecond to catch his breath "what job are you talking about?" confusion was a great help when it came to ignoring embarrassing warmth spreading over his cheeks, emotional turmoil and urge to space out and daydream about _the damn flower's field. _(Cloud decided it collocated well.)

"What, you don't know? SOLDIER firsts' secretary!" Zack answered and smiled so brilliantly, Cloud was torn in two, unable to decide how to react – sigh dreamily, or, putting his crush aside for a moment, express his astonishment.

He went for the latter.

"What?" he shrieked.

"I know, isn't it _fabulous_?"

(_Not eloquent, you say? Take that Seph_, Zack congratulated himself.)

Judging by Cloud's expression, his opinion on the matter was drastically different.

"When was that decided?" he demanded, trying fruitlessly to wriggle out from Zack's hold, in order to regain his much needed, especially given his companion, personal space and the regular paleness of his cheeks.

The SOLDIER appeared to be deep in thought. "Around midnight, I'd say. Don't know what time it was exactly."

He'd got to be kidding him.

"And shouldn't I have a saying in this?" he inquired dryly, fighting off the impending 'picnic by the riverside' daydream.

"Sorry, too late for the second thoughts", Zack shrugged, dismissively.

"But you didn't even give a chance to have the first thoughts!"

The door whooshed open and he was steered out of the lift.

"Oh come on, you know you wanna", Zack winked and Cloud had to bit back a cruse, because _it was so charming, when he did that, and now it will haunt his dreams and every waking hour, till the day this insanity called a 'crush' will finally fade_, and he really couldn't afford it at the moment, since he had an argument to win.

Because otherwise, his Zack-avoiding policy could be thrown through the window. And so his future excuses, as to why he hadn't spike his friend's – a dramatic sigh – drink with _**Love Elixir **_yet.

(All the while, Cloud couldn't shake off the strangest gut feeling that the fate itself, or hypothetical great narrator of his life, had way too much fun of his at expense. Puzzling, indeed.)

"No, I don't_ wanna_" he wasn't about to give up, though arguing with Zack – whose closeness inducted this specific light-headedness which felt as if it was hot, humid vapor he had in his head, instead of brain – proved to be difficult.

_And Zack eyelashes were just so long, too._

Shreds of Cloud's rationality wailed, ashamed of him.

Before he could complain further, they rounded the corner and reached their destination.

"So", Zack said, oddly proud with himself, as if he renovated and furnished the place himself – which wasn't the case, since it was far too tasteful to be seriously considered his creation. "This is our office", he gestured towards the half-open door's general direction "this is your desk -"

_Noooo...!_, he screamed internally.

But there was no escaping, once Zack Fair had made his mind.

"- in that alcove we have high-tech, ShinRa issued, coffee machines and", he shrugged "other stuff..." Zack made a short pause and Cloud, instinctively, followed his line of sight.

Eire green eyes fell on Cloud.

"And we even have _a Sephiroth_!"

Who, having stepped out from the office to satisfy his curiosity as to what the commotion was about, upon seeing the trooped, visibly tensed.

And then, upon hearing Zack's next words, everything about him became murderous.

"The one you'll be, starting tomorrow morning, making tea and coffee for; but don't worry, he hangs out here only when his not on a mission, or training, and even when he's actually _present_", a significant glance was send towards Sephiroth, who, doubtfully, raised his eyebrow "he's just typing his mission's reports and playing solitaire or bubble-shooter, with all-business expression, to make people think he's looking for something classified in the ShinRa database."

One hand fell on the Masamune's hilt.

Zack decided it's a high time for tactical retreat.

"By the way; Sephiroth, this is _my dear friend_", he squeezed Cloud for better effect, almost breaking few bones in process "Cloud Strife." He smirked smugly, pleased with himself. "Now, get acquainted", he pushed the trooper with so much force he would have send him flying at the opposite wall -

- had not Sephiroth caught him first.

"And you know. Be good", he said to the other SOLDIER _especially_ and left the two alone.

Stunned by the latest development and unable to find the words to stop his – sigh – friend and make him _take it all back, now!_, Cloud watched from between Sephiroth's arms Zack's retreating back.

Silence fell upon them.

Sephiroth gently, yet unwillingly (any careful observer would see it right away), let go of Cloud and coughed.

Cloud, who – big surprise here – didn't notice uncharacteristic, for the SOLDIER's standards at least, tense demeanor, sighed.

"Strife, I -" Sephiroth began, uptight and clearly uncomfortable with what he was going to say.

Cloud, in rush of empathy – and besides, he could hear the call of his bunk, and the plaster peeling of the wall, to stare at it mindlessly and not reflect on today's happenings – finished the sentence for him.

"- want to see me here tomorrow, at nine o'clock sharply. Understood, sir"

What the greatest SOLDIER ever tried to choke out, let me assure you, wasn't anything of this sort.

Defeated, yet embarrassed and awkward, _Sephiroth coughed_.

As if to answer in the same, enigmatic code, _Cloud sighed_.

Had Miss Strife and Zack been there to witness this exchange; well, let just say it's better they weren't. Miss Strife's fragile nerves wouldn't be able to stand even one second more of that, and Zack's teasing would earn him a run through with Masamune.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, sir", Cloud saluted and went for the closest staircase – there, he was confident, he won't run into anyone – entirely ignoring strange looks Sephiroth send his way.

And for now, we should let Cloud get some rest, since the next few days (and nights as well) were going to be anything but peaceful.

Wise man said, _electron in an atom will run as it pleases, no matter what is written or said about it._ And similarly – no matter how much the characters try to set things up, the story will still unfold in the way it wants to.

When Cloud got back to his place, seemingly innocent package from Nibelheim was already there.

* * *

8/1/2010 Revised and edited; courtesy of xxLivingPuppetxx234 (Thank you XD .)


	3. Chapter 3

Nine o'clock the following day came all to soon to Cloud's liking.

Everything was fine till around three am, when his bunk-mate's merciless, ear-splitting snoring finally managed to jerk him out of his blissfully mindless happy place. Laying flat on his back, completely awake, he was painfully aware there was, hastily hidden beneath his bed, three times cursed _**Love Elixir. **_Its ominous and fearful power burned him, somehow, through the mattress and the bunk's rusty construction and made him unable to get even a wink for sleep. As always, when something unpleasant he was fretting over was about to come, time was passing away suspiciously and disturbingly quick and he was turning around, tangled in his sheets, feeling much like (he realized with sincere _disgust_) the main protagonist of that old fairytale _Princess and a Plea_.

As if his sorry-romance alone wasn't lame enough.

But Cloud's restlessness was nothing in comparison to his mental uproar, because things turned from bad to worse and the teenage drama, pretty sweet in its innocence and naivety, became a full-blown teenage tragedy.

And he was stuck with unsolvable tragic conflict.

In the red corner there was his mother's order, powerful, unstoppable force not to be messed with - and that alone was capable of over-weighing any possible doubts - supported by a great desire - though he was too ashamed to consciously admit it - to have for once in his lonely, filled only with rejection and sorrow, and longing, and yearning, and silent suffering while having to grin and bear it, being slapped at his back and called 'a buddy' but never _'beloved'_... (few minutes and synonyms later) – life someone actually return his feelings. Yep, it would be nice.

In the blue corner, however, The Guilt, in its purest form, was already warming up – because Zack had a girlfriend, was satisfied with his relationship and breaking it off for the selfish sake of his own happiness was wrong, _wrong_, _**wrong!**_, and, oh, Cloud would _never_ forgive himself, let alone atone for such a crime, for the rest of his life, every single day, bearing the shame of **his fault**; the SOLDIER's affections would always be a reminder of the broken heart of someone else.

- Supported by, waving enthusiastically at the cheering crowds and striking poses for photographers commemorating its moment of glory for the generations to come, Cloud Strife's Own Inner Second Thoughts And Doubts.

He wasn't quite prepared for the prospect of being loved back to suddenly become frighteningly real. Because finding out his feelings aren't one-sided anymore would open a variety of strange, disturbing, brand new possibilities – and what if it occurs to him he doesn't like being in a relationship after all, while Zack will already be under the bloody _**Love Elixir**_'s effect? Or the damn crush, precisely at that time, decide to pack its things and fade away? ! Or his mother will, in fact, come to Midgar, barge into the ShinRa Tower and he didn't dare to even imagine what would happen next? ! Or...

…_**? !  
**_

At that point, he felt like running in circles in his bedroom (yet, still, carefully side-stepping his bunk-mate's dirty socks and underwear scattered all over the floor, along with last weekend's dinner leftovers which, given three more days, would start moving on its own), screaming and pulling out his hair, just to put a cherry on top of his current mental crisis.

But as it was mentioned before – nine am came all too soon and Cloud was forced to make a decision and maybe it wasn't exactly a rational or moral one, but it was as close to compromise as it could get. Because, he concluded and even hastily solved an equation of solution's concentration, if he expose Zack to the elixir's small enough dosage, then the effect will last shortly, no longer than four days tops and after that time the SOLDIER will wake up with a killer-headache and huge gap in memory. No permanent damage will be done and by the time everything will return to normal, Cloud would already be cured from his stupid crush.

Well, _hopefully_.

But in Cloud's eyes it really was a win-win situation and to make it even better, it also served as a security blanket, since he was one hundred percent sure that something WILL go wrong.

It was like a law of the universe in such cases.

(Though, in his wildest dreams he would never imagine was The Fate itself had in store for him.)

So, about half an hour before setting off to take on his new, but luckily only temporary, duties, with a very long sigh – and let's admire for a while his lungs' capacity and reflect on what would have happened to the Planet, had he reconsider his career choice and become an opera singer instead of a soldier – he carefully reached under his bunk, as if afraid the _**Love Elixir**_ will bite him, to take out a misleadingly innocent bottle. Then, having uncorked it, he added into the liquid one, previously pulled out hair and watched it dissolve with a mysterious - and kind of corny - pink glow.

Completed, ready for use elixir flashed with deep crimson.

* * *

Short digression is in order and since it seems like a right place to look upon it, let me explain why exactly Heidegger, head of ShinRa's military forces of all kind, agreed to give First Class SOLDIERs their own office – especially, giving his opinion on the matter (_They want an __**office**__? And what else? A pony maybe? No way in hell, they ain't no bureaucrats, they're a bunch of butchers!_) was still a relatively fresh memory.

Before, SOLDIERs didn't have a place to hang out in the ShinRa Tower, between training and being off on the missions; and their reduced to absolute minimum paperwork – as in, said missions reports – were supposed to be prepared in their spare time, preferably in their own quarters, what naturally meant a great number of them was scribbled hastily on a knee, crouching in the privacy of the hide-out provided by few pot plants around the corner.

But everything changed that fateful day, when Zack, in the presence of president Shinra himself, with a brilliant smile of a four-year-old presenting his mother colorful hieroglyphics he insisted on calling their family's picture, gave Heidegger his latest mission's report which had been... through a lot (it wasn't typed out, obviously, and Zack's handwriting was hardly legible on a good day; the paper was rumpled, bored the strains of the coffee cups left carelessly on it and half of its content was lost for the humankind forever, since after a close encounter with spilled orange juice the ink was washed away; to complete the image, there was also a dead mosquito stuck to the paper), something in the man just broke.

...And now, having it cleared up, we can go back to the main story.

* * *

Sephiroth was concerned.

Said statement meant a lot, for Sephiroth was never concerned; even during the Wutaian War, when Godo promised half of his kingdom and his daughter's hand in marriage (few spiteful commentators claimed, it should rather be _his kingdom and half of his daughter_, since eventual marriage anytime soon would rest mostly on playing dolls with the princess) everyone, who would give him, on a silver platter, Sephiroth's – no, not head, Godo deserves more credit for creativity than that, but - hair.

Well, to be completely truthful, he experienced many bizarre, astonishing in their unfamiliarity, emotions lately. It was all absurd, pure irrationality and he was awkward and embarrassed, and refused to dwell on it, because it made him uncomfortable on so many levels and he couldn't really comprehend a _what_, or _when_, or _**why**_ – and taking it all under consideration, he wanted to hide in his corner and die.

But he pushed it firmly away, putting on his best all-business expression and involuntarily tensed, barely fighting off a lock-jaw. Now wasn't the time for any of that, after all.

Not, when the sole reason and cause of his current state was right before him, half laying on secretary's desk, with dark circles under his eyes, mindlessly starring into the space, absentmindedly playing with small bottle filled with some red liquid, sighing with frightening frequency and, all in all, looking quite miserable.

What brings us back to The Concern.

Sephiroth coughed.

And tensed even more, once Cloud's apathetic stare focused on him.

"Is there something wrong, Strife?" he inquired, sounding as formal as humanly possible. "Something I could help you with...?" he trailed off, uncertainly.

(And yet again, Cloud failed to notice it was unlikely of Sephiroth, rumored arrogant and cold man, to make a small talk and offer help, just out of his heart's kindness.)

Cloud mused for a moment over the question – blissfully unaware the SOLDIER was capable of doing many... reckless things, if only had he asked for them – and what started as strangely detached, nostalgic reflection, "Sir, have you ever wanted something so _badly_, knowing you can't have it, not now, not ever; and then, this miraculous mean to get it appears and you are forced to use it, but you're not sure whether you want to, because you worry that once you get what you wanted, you wouldn't want it anymore, but too late, you're stuck with it now!" quickly turned into a rant. "And at the same time you're painfully aware you really shouldn't use it, because that way you're likely to destroy something beautiful which no-one should mess with; but then again, if you definitely refuse to use it, then, without a doubt, something terrible will happen? !"

Sephiroth was visibly taken aback.

Having realized what exactly had he just said, Cloud couldn't really hold it against him.

"...Strife?"

"Uh, sorry sir", he ducked his head shyly, hardly resisting the urge to repeatedly slam his head against the desk. "I didn't get much sleep, that's all", he explained quickly, waving it off dismissively.

Instead of expected nod and return to whatever the man had been doing, Sephiroth still stood, as he was, and, in silence growing more and more awkward with each passing second, was looking at him with strange, unreadable expression.

Cloud frowned.

Why was he starring like that?

...Did he had something on his face?

He self-consciously wiped the side of his mouth in case he had toothpaste remains there.

Sephiroth coughed – supposedly, meaningfully – and it appeared the man was getting ready to make some elegiac, changing our perception of four-dimensional space confession. Lights in the whole building dimmed to highlight the moment's significance; hypothetical great narrator's finger hovered above the play button, because a proper, pompous choir music based soundtrack was in order; Cloud, as a captivated audience, payed his unwavering attention to the SOLDIER alone, holding his breath; and Sephiroth deeply inhaled and open his mouth -

- the suspense was at the point of reaching its peak -

- only to rapidly drop down, since all the so-called living legend managed to _literary_ choke out was horribly stuttered Cloud's last name, followed by a short pause indicating that in this precise place, in a transcript, should be put a coma, and first person's personal pronoun. Then, Sephiroth's throat constricted, making him unable to say anything else.

Shame, really, there were no Wutaian warriors around to witness it.

Though, impossibly as it might have seemed, in another rush of empathy, Cloud somehow put two and two together and his blue eyes shone brightly with knowledge and understanding.

Of course! How could he be so oblivious? Now everything made sense! Was crystal clear!

He almost felt like bursting out laughing at how obvious it was.

"You want me to make you coffee, right? I'm on it, sir", Cloud ensured with a nod and stood up, never letting go of the elixir.

Sephiroth collapsed upon himself.

"I prefer tea", he mumbled crestfallen, for some reason, and hid his face in his palm. Careful observer would also, to his endless amazement, catch a glimpse of a shameful red tinting the SOLDIER's cheeks.

Careful observer, whom Cloud wasn't, because from above Sephiroth's shoulder he could see Zack running towards them – and that alone was enough to justify him – caring an impressive pile of paperwork and calling out, "for me as well, Cloud! And while you're at it, prepare more cups, we're holding a meeting here in few minutes!"

A sight of his – a depressed sigh – friend triggered the usual reaction, so making use of graciously provided excuse to flee from the presence of the other was exactly what he was planning to do.

(No idea why, but Sephiroth for a second looked very annoyed.)

He politely ignored the SOLDIERs' conversation, while waiting for water to boil, absorbed in his own thoughts. Maybe the circumstances weren't the most fortunate he could dream of – well, _Sephiroth_ was there and what if the man will take a wrong cup? Since, given his luck, there was a disturbingly high possibility of such turn of events.

On the other hand, though, he didn't feel like waiting for another opportunity. The sooner he get it done, the sooner it will be over and back to normal, everyday routine - wake up, go train, pass by Sephiroth on the way to the mess, grab something relatively edible to eat, go patrol, run into Sephiroth at some point, patrol some more, go to sleep (he still didn't see anything unusual about the SOLDIER's omnipresence wherever he went) – without additional, absolutely **not** desired _chemical reactions_. Because that's all the damn crush truly was.

And there's also the fact, in his current state, Cloud was likely to lost ability to rationally appraise reality.

He sighed.

He put two, steaming cups on a tray and after stealing a glimpse of the two SOLDIERs, from around the corner, precisely three drops of the Elixir were added to the one on the left. All the while purposefully ignoring his gut feelings and the first rule of the universe – if something can go wrong, it will.

Oh, and it did, I assure you. What we are, in a moment's notice, going to witness is merely a prelude to the spiraling out of control chain of events.

And let it be noted that maybe Cloud could have had any influence on the farce unfolding before his terrified eyes, if only Sephiroth, completely out of blue and, in Cloud's opinion, worst timing ever, hadn't felt the overwhelming, probably, need to be helpful - what had the trooper weirded-out from the very beginning.

Upon seeing him holding the tray, Sephiroth, sounding strangely eager, declared, "I'll help you!" and entirely ignoring what Zack had been going on about, walked purposefully towards Cloud, _removed_ the tray from his palms and set it on the secretary's desk himself.

Zack let out a highly suspicious series of choking noises.

...Okay, now even Cloud's obliviousness had to throw away its gun, then raise its hands in surrender and admit it was _weird_.

But before he could reflect on it and maybe reach a conclusion which would be anywhere close to the truth, Sephiroth send his way what in original idea was supposed to be a smile, though the outcome would easily make his regular secretary scream in horror and run for her life.

"Thank you, Strife", he said politely and the gentleness of his voice contrasted comically with his expression.

(Zack had some serious problems breathing.)

And Cloud, hypnotized, or like an adult seeing a child falling into the well yet unable to prevent it, watched as Sephiroth, in slow motion, of course, reach out for a tea cup and -

- and have you ever noticed that whenever you happen to drop bread's slice while preparing a sandwich, even though the odds are even, it will always, no matter what, fall on the floor the spread with butter side-first? Because there is an analogical situation here, so having to chose between the two, the SOLDIER just had to, was forced to, even if he tried to fight it off with all of his might and willpower, simply must have had -

- picked up the one containing a drink tinted with deceptively pleasant red of the _**Love Elixir**_.

...Well, _**FUCK**_.

Calmly, unhurriedly, pensively even, Cloud turned around and marched back to the alcove to disappear from the SOLDIER's sight and NOT to see the man drown down the tea, getting the poisonous liquid into his organism. Having got there, he leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. He would have been content to stay there for some time and angst about the human existence on this veil of tears and fate's cruel ways, if -

"Hey, your tea has a different flavor!" he froze upon hearing Zack's voice, though this time for the reasons having little to do with his crush and everything with foreboding. "Give me a sip!"

_Nooo!_, he mentally cried out and in disbelief looked around the corner, barely in time to see him swallow the _poison_.

"Pretty good", Zack decided and put the cup back on the tray, since resigned – and suddenly, evidently, in a very bad mood – Sephiroth took the untouched and _clean_ tea, before heading to the office. "Minty", he added, appreciating the after-taste.

"Hurry up and take the papers", urged clearly annoyed Sephiroth and Zack quickly picked up his pile and trotted after him, leaving his drink forgotten on the secretary's desk.

Typical of him.

_Now_ he could start digging his own grave, Cloud decided and that was his last conscious thought for the next, five minutes. The longest ones in his whole life.

He wasn't able to comprehend what was happening. Such things simply did not take place in real life; hell, they didn't even take place in Wutaian operas, no matter how high the scriptwriter were – and that was saying something! In his eyes, the world, the entity of the Planet, was reduced to this one, particular corridor in the ShinRa Tower and turned into a stage taken straight from exceptionally, outstandingly grotesque – and rather graphomanic as well – theater of absurd's play and everyone, who happened to pass by, were merely very bad actors, unconvincingly reciting their lines.

Let the farce begin.

With a small sound the lift's door opened and vice president Rufus, followed shortly by the Turk's director, Tseng, stepped out from it and strolled towards the SOLDIERs' office.

"...As I was saying", Rufus carried on in his nasal, slightly snobbish tone "as far as poor cooperation between our two, crucial departments is concerned, my presence on the meeting is obviously required".

Then, his eyes felt on the still full cup of steaming tea.

"Oh, how convenient, just when I'm thirsty", he commented, slightly sarcastically – though, Rufus sounded that way even if he didn't intend to. "I wonder whether it's poisoned", he added in a rush of his famous, gallows' humor, reaching out for the cup.

But it was snatched right before his nose by overzealous Tseng, who took a sip, mused for a moment over the taste and then, apparently satisfied with it, gave it back to the vice president.

"It fine, as far as I can tell", he informed with a small shrug. "Minty".

Rufus stared at him in a strange mix of amazed disgust.

"Well, thank you very much", he spatted and poured the rest to nearest flower pot – because the ShinRa's vice president was simply too good to drink after his employee – though not before taking a sip himself, since secretly he was fond of the mint's flavor.

No sooner had they disappeared behind the office's door, than two Turks – one of them Cloud recognized as infamous among ShinRa's female personnel and Slums' inhabitants Reno, so the second one got to be his partner, Rude – together with Two, Random SOLDIERs Second, he could barely place as Zack's drinking buddies, rounded the corner and, to his horror, the redhead pointed at the _**Love Elixir **_which Cloud carelessly had left on the counter behind which he was currently hiding.

"Hey, look! An elixir prototype!" and the other three, perfectly synchronized, obediently followed his line of sight. "Why don't we fresh up a bit?" he grinned and although all of them silently agreed they would rather have Reno's home made moonshine serve this purpose, they weren't going to turn down what the fate had graciously offered.

The elixir was passed over from hands to hands, in a grotesque parody of a peace pipe.

"You fools!" out of nowhere, professor Hojo came out running towards The Merry Companion, as The Random SOLDIER Number Two took a swing from the bottle, and snatched the elixir from his hands. "SOLDIERs are _not_ allowed to drink _any_ liquids of magical effect which hadn't been AUTHORIZED BY SHINRA!"

...Needless to say, the scientist was pissed.

The two SOLDIERs ducked their heads in shame and suddenly – and laughably – looked very small, with their hard muscles and all, in comparison to skinny, fuming with barely contained rage, Hojo.

"How can you know it's unauthorized, when you merely sparred it one look?" inquired in his defense one of the SOLDIERs, sounding much like a scolded child.

Hojo seemingly lost it.

"Elixirs **aren't** supposed to be _**red**_, you imbeciles! You lacking link in evolution between gorilla and human!"

"Chill out, Hojo", sudden appearance (_where did he come from?_) of the military forces' director cut in the scientist's tirade – fortunately, since professor's creativity knew no boundaries when it came to insulting one's intelligence.

"Heidegger!" he growled and trusted the not so innocent bottle into his face, "do you have anything to do with this?"

Heidegger carefully studied the label, deep in thought, turning something over and over in his mind, concentrated solely on this one, extremely important matter... -

- And then, to everyone's astonishment – and Hojo's especially – calmly took the bottle from his palm, uncorked it, sniffed its content and, since his suspicions were probably and _undoubtedly_ confirmed, swallowed an impressive mouthful of the elixir.

The scientist gaped at the man, as if he rapidly had grown a second head.

(Taking shameless advantage of Hojo paying them no mind, The Merry Company inched its way inside the safety of SOLDIERs First's office.)

"Why did you do that?" he demanded, in a mild shock.

And Heidegger's returned that look threefold.

"Stupid, are you?" in a rightful indignation he even forgot the proper word order in Midgar dialect; not that the syntax was his forte in the first place. "In a fifty percent it's a pure spirits, Hojo", he jabbed the label with whole chemical composition listed down, for better emphasis, and snorted at the scientist's scandalizing ignorance.

"Oh, give me that", he removed the elixir from Heidegger's clearly incapable hands, mumbling something under his breath in outrage.

Though, once said director headed out for the meeting, and Hojo was positive nobody else was around to witness it, he opened the bottle and having cleaned its mouth with his lab coat's sleeve, he took a swing himself.

(Cloud was terrified.)

Evidently in better mood, Hojo took off into his lab's direction, but made, tops, five steps before colliding with hurrying somewhere Scarlet, followed dutifully by her dog – small, barking furrball with pink ribbon tied on its head. Scarlet shrieked, startled, and all the folders and papers, she had been carrying, ended up on the floor, alongside the elixir's bottle – now shattered.

"Watch were you're going!" she snapped at the scientist, getting down on her knees in order to collect her scattered papers.

- At the side, her dog was lapping greedily at the poodle of red liquid. -

"Hurry up and help me!" she demanded, but Hojo had already made a tactical retreat.

She snorted.

"Of course. Men. When it comes down to doing anything actually useful, they're all worthless, the whole lot of them", she began her rant and no wonder everyone cherishing their life fled from her presence, because everything about the woman screamed of the horrors of PMS.

The dog started barking in hidden Cloud's direction.

"Quiet, Fifi", Scarlet ordered sharply, getting back on her feet, nursing a chaos of papers in her arms and went towards the nearest lift. "We're going to be late again and it's all that oversized cockroach with glasses' fault!" she fumed, jabbing the button, and then send a clearly annoyed glare above her shoulder, while tapping her foot impatiently. "Fifi, what are you doing? Come here", she shrilled, and the dog whined longingly towards the counter, though dutifully followed its lady inside the lift, nevertheless.

…And the curtains fell, the credits rolled and Cloud sat and stared stupefied on the abandoned, desolated stage, like usually the audience not accustomed to the theater of absurd did when the play ended, wondering if it was just him, or his life indeed, purely on its own accord, decided to turn into inspiration for the stupidest Wutaian soap opera ever.

Comprehending what had just happened was far, far beyond him – probably basking in the heat on the sandy beaches of always sunny Costa del Sol, many miles away from Midgar.

Oh, how he wished he could join it.

Upon hearing the phone ring, he crawled on all fours to the secretary's desk and, in a daze, on autopilot answered the call.

"Yes, sir?", he inquired politely, somehow not giving away how stupefied he felt.

"_Strife, bring some tea and three black coffees, no sugar, for us, please_", requested Sephiroth's voice, buzzing quite pleasantly into his ear.

"Yes, sir", he repeated, merely changing a bit his intonation, because, at the moment, he really wasn't able to muster anything requiring even one more brain-cell's usage – in the face of the current no, not crisis; current _**catastrophe**_, he had none to spare.

For now, it's better not to think about it, he decided, because he was positive once he did, he's brain would leak out by his ears. Thankfully, automatic activities like boiling water and pouring it into the cups, were very competent in inducting so desired mindless state.

Five minutes later, still pretty much as brain dead as before, he stood before the closed office's door -

- _**all hope abandon, ye who enter in **_-

- balancing the tray in one hand, and against his better judgment, knocked -

- _the sound echoed against the dungeon's walls_ -

- opened the door and -

- _descended to the darkest depths hell_ -

- walked inside the office.

And, as if to answer some internal, inaudible call, all heads turned and nine pairs of eyes fell upon Cloud.

Silence.

- I was curious myself how the office looked like, though, due to Cloud's trauma and stress, and emotional strain, our brave trooper later held no memory of this particular location. No helping it, then, a proper description has to wait for the better times. -

He gulped.

"...Cloud", Zack sighed dreamily, as if suddenly, before his unworthy eyes, appeared a truly heavenly creature. Though, having quickly got over the love-stuck haze, with a smile number seventeen, in Zack's own nomenclature known as the most seductive one, said sigh was followed by more flirty, "oh Cloud, sweetie -"

(Sephiroth raised his eyebrow.)

" - ...Why don't you join us?" continued Rufus and with rather lewd grin plastered to his face, patted his lap invitingly, suggesting he would prefer to pat any part of Cloud's anatomy he would manage to get his hands on.

Meanwhile, a lone hand – it belonged to Reno, as it turned out later – rose, seemingly at its own accord, and smacked Cloud's butt.

He jumped, startled, but miraculously didn't spill anything.

(Sephiroth frowned.)

Sensing incoming danger – or rather, impending doom – Cloud quickly put the tray on the closest, flat surface and slowly, avoiding any rapid movement, inched his way back to the door.

Heidegger squirmed in his seat – and Cloud's skin crawled, because he had a decent idea why, judging by the telltale tent in the man's pants.

Rude took off his glasses.

Sephiroth's palm rested on Masamune's hilt.

"I-I-I...", he stuttered horribly, blindly feeling around for the door handle. "I guess I should go now", he forced out and barely containing a scream of horror growing in his throat – because Tseng stood up, with a rather disturbing expression on his face, and looked as if he had every intention to cut his escape route – and cultivating an ancient virtue of constructive cowardice – or maybe merely acting on his self-preservation instinct – Cloud ran away, slamming the door behind him to slow down hypothetical chase and cursing the day when his mother decided that brewing _**Love Elixir**_ sounded like fun.

Somewhere in the intangible realm of ideas, Irony high-fived The Fate.

* * *

**A/N:** BUHAHA! XD (Yep, that's all I wanted to share.)

But in case anyone is wondering; Fifi's name proper pronunciation is **Fee-Fee** and Love Elixir has a minty taste, because in my native language there's this colloquial expression '_to feel mint (to sb)'_ which holds similar meaning to _'be smitten with sb'_.


	4. Chapter 4

Many miles away from Midgar's everyday commotion, late night decadence and currently unfolding farce, relishing in the peace and quiet, and harmony of a simple life in a sleepy village, lost somewhere in the Nibel Mountains -

– to prove those words right, something exploded in that crazy Strife's house, from across the square, causing the inn's windows to shook a little –

- ...well, _anyway_; relishing in all the above-mentioned, the innkeeper was unhurriedly polishing the counter in the so-called reception hall. To be truthful, there wasn't much of a point in doing so, as someone might have politely suggest, or rudely point out someone else, since the whole inn, counter-top included, was already cleaner than most of labs could ever hope to be. The business was as slow as always – nobody really came here, apart from ShinRa employees and highly suspicious individuals – no, delinquents! - seeking Strife's elixirs and whatever other poisons that woman was brewing – but a serious businessman, such as himself, was supposed to look busy, even if he wasn't.

(What was the case, most of times.)

Especially, since holding such prestigious position in their small society – he was owner of the only, currently ringing, phone in the whole, narrow Nibelheim, after all – also meant responsibility of being a shiny example for his fellow citizens.

With a pleasant sigh, indicating just how content he was with his nearly perfect life, with a new found vigor at the reflection of his own importance, resumed the laborious task of polishing wood until he would see his reflection in it.

_...Oh, the phone is ringing!_, it occurred to him suddenly, or rather struck like an exceptionally slow lightning.

- His adrenal glands spat out noradrenaline, breathing increased in frequency and barely containing very undignified, delighted squeak, leaped towards the phone. The moment his fingertips touched the receiver's cool and smooth surface, a sudden rush of pleasure was running through his veins to coil in the pool of excitement somewhere below his navel.

(By the way, the inn's rare visitors, upon witnessing this act, clutched their cell phones protectively like new-born babies and outraged words, such as _psychopathology_ and _perversion_ could be heard, though Mister Bauer had no idea what they were murmuring about.)

_Oh yes_, it was so delightful, simply ecstatic, he felt as if he was twenty years younger. -

Because - oh, dear gods in the heavens above...! - the excitement of answering the call...! This thrilling sensation of facing the unknown, just before a polite _Nibelheim inn, how can I help you?_, when opening before him was a broad, seemingly endless variety of possibilities of whom it might be on the line's other side – because it could be anyone! A lost soul looking for a place to rest in the midst of this wild country? A friend he just didn't know yet? ...The president ShinRa himself?

Besides, a call was such a rare occurrence, it deserved to be properly celebrated, even if it would turn out it's only a telemarketer.

But no, of all the people walking on the Planet's surface it simply had to be the devil's own.

"_Mister Bauer? It's me, Cloud Strife. Could you please call my mother?"_

...And just like that, with few words, two dots, question marks and a coma, all of his exultation was gone, evaporating like air from a burst balloon.

_**NO**_, was the answer which immediately popped up in his mind, although -

- _the gears started to rotate_ -

"Strife, do you happen to have _any_ idea what bill I get every month because of your mother's hanging on my phone?"

- refusal can always wait, until he'll get his satisfaction. And payback, preferably in form of a nice amount of Gil.

"_I apologize"_, at least the kid had decency to sound ashamed. _"If you send me your bill, I will pay you back"_ and it was oddly – if not perversely – pleasing, he had to admit, to have the evil's offspring placating his ruffled feathers in fear that otherwise he'll just hung up. _"So now, could you _please_ ca__ll my mother?"_

_In your dreams, maybe_, he snorted and went on, entirely ignoring Cloud's polite request "it's simply not enough, Strife! That woman's been nothing but a pest, since you left! She's disrespectful and ungrateful, when I, out of my heart kindness, let her use my cherished belonging..." making a good use of having someone to take his long pent-up frustrations out on; all the while sensually stroking the receiver clasped between his fingers.

Why couldn't he give Miss Strife herself a piece of mind, someone might wonder – but it would indicate said person _obviously_ was shockingly ignorant. No-one dared to breath anything that would, hypothetically, displease that woman, because -

- _dark clouds from above the whole continent rushed to hover over __a tiny village of Nibelheim, to provide a proper, shadowy scenery for this digression's ominous, horrifying, spine-chilling content_ -

- ...she was evil. She had -

- _thunder echoed in the distance_ -

_-__** Powers.**_

Over sixteen years have passed since that fateful day, when misleadingly gentle and meek girl with a huge belly and apparent lack of husband walked through the village's gates. She was distracted, lost in her thoughts, busy battling conflicting emotions surely tearing apart her soul and seemingly prepared to humbly bear the shame of pointing fingers and sneers, and bored housewives' awful rumors whispered on the ear.

But then, strange things started to happen in the most vicious gossiper's households.

At first, the cows lost milk and the dogs kept on howling till the night's late hours, as if terrified of something. Then, few people noticed that ravens all day and long were circling above their roofs. One morning Strife's neighbor discovered that ugly pickles appeared on her face overnight – and anxious housewives were quick to remember that a day prior Strife send their poor friend an evil look. But it didn't end there. Infants in cribs started to wail for no reason at all – and when the curse reached the manhood of the gossipers' husbands, the psychosis of fear broke loose.

People swore they saw Strife on the Nibel Mountain, dancing a merry polka with the demons around the Mako Reactor. Others claimed they heard devilish chuckles coming from her house well past midnight. Few overzealous ones even started picking up branches for a stake.

In the end it was mayor Lockhart's responsibility to _(risk his life)_ go talk with the newcomer and persuade her to cease her evil doings. And quite surprisingly, Sylvia Strife proved to be completely willing to live in peace and harmony with rest of Nibelheim's society, though she made it clear that if anyone dare to mistreat her, or physically harm her, at that time yet unborn, baby – and even one hair out of place on her child's head fell under said category – water will turn into blood, food will become poisonous and no men in the village will be able to ever get it up again.

After the last threat especially, nobody wanted to take chances.

The mood lifted and sky cleared, as the innkeeper's thoughts came back to the present.

"_I'm sorry, I'll talk to her, but please just get her on the phone, it's extremely important!"_

- The outrage...! Was that a hint of impatience and – a scandalized gasp – _annoyance_ he just detected? When he, law-abiding and taxes-paying _(and __narrow-minded)_ – huh, did someone insult him just now? - citizen scooped so low as to chat with the devil's offspring?

"Oh is that so? And what, dare I ask, might be so important that..."

"_- ...Mister Bauer, it's a matter of life and death!"_ cut in Strife, now evidently sounding impatient. How impertinent!

"Yes, your mother is highly competent as far as death is concerned", he retorted with a rather unpleasant grin plastered to his face.

"_Just... GET HER ON THE DAMN PHONE ALREADY!"_

- And the dark clouds rushed back in place, as exactly at the moment Strife yelled, the mirror hanging on the opposite wall cracked and its shattered glass fell on the floor.

He froze. A snide commentary he was going to utter next was already sunk into oblivion.

"C... C-certainly, sir. R-right away, sss... s-sir", he stuttered in response, shaking like a leaf, once the realization of what had just happened occurred to him.

Unbeknownst to Cloud that moment would later be noted as a turning point in Nibelheim's history – as the day when Strife's offspring for the first time manifested his demonic heritage.

* * *

Back in Midgar, six floors and one random desk below the SOLDIER Firsts' Office, crouching in rather uncomfortable position -

"Mom!" Cloud gasped, clutching tightly the receiver between his clammy hands. All in all, he was giving away an impression of a frightened game fowl, twitching nervously upon hearing any louder voice and careful observing, with exotic mix of watchful panic, the corridor, through the crack between desk and floor, ready to bolt and run away for his life – and chastity – had he sighted any suspicious-looking pair of shoes.

If the things were turned from bad to worse, due to the _**Love Elixir's**_ arrival, then _now_ they were the worst.

Because seriously – and he meant, _seriously_ – like, in italics and a bold font _**seriously**_ -

- ...WHAT THE HELL?

No, he decided upon closer introspection, Gongagan low budget horror's producers would find this brave, new, _surreal_ world, his everyday routine's reality had just recently warped into, much more inspiring than Wutaian soap operas' scriptwriters nursing a hangover of a century. And to make him feel even more pathetic, he was struck by realization he behaved like a damsel in distress – and said distress' sole reason was the fact there were far too many princes charming happy to rescue him – and this vicious circle was just so stupid and lame, he never before yearned nearly as much to raise his hands in surrender and request for the Planet to stop spinning, because _he wanted out_ - but let's not mention it for the time being.

Now wasn't the time for any further analysis, reflections, retrospection or introspection, after all. He had to stay calm, cool, collected and focused (even though he felt like clutching he's head and letting out an agonized scream on the blood-red sky's background, while his silhouette proportion's flowed freely in grotesque deformation on expressionist's canvas) and get the antidote before something irreversible will happen – like, horny Heidegger cornering him in a shadowy office with intention to discuss his career in ShinRa, or Hojo putting on latex gloves, taking alarming pleasure in saying something about rectal examination.

"Mom", he repeated, trying to calm down a bit, in building paranoia shooting panicked glances above his shoulder._The shit has hit the fan_, were going to be his next words, but fortunately he braked sharply the last second, before causing yet another disaster.

World ending situations seemed to be the theme of the day.

"Something terrible happened", he provided his mother with nice, and more importantly, censored variation of his message and inhaled deeply to sooth his strained nerves. He was painfully aware what would have happened, had he uttered even one curse word around his mother. Miss Strife would most likely fly on the broomstick all the way to Midgar, to the ShinRa Tower and upon finding him, proceed to shower his mouth with soap. And once she'd be done with him, she would undoubtedly head for his squad commander's office to have a friendly chat with him, concerning her opinion on tainting her baby's innocence and then sharing suspicions who exactly might be to blame for that.

Also, he knew, had he not prevented his mother's crusade to Midgar – or died trying to – what to expect from his commander as an outcome for all of that.

No mercy, that's what.

"_What, you gave the Elixir to wrong person?"_ she innocently inquired.

...It was a moment of choice. There were three possible reactions – astonished _how did you know?_, despaired _mom, I'm screwed in so many more ways than one!_ and relatively level-headed explanation. Each option had its advantages and misgivings, and although Cloud personally voted for despaired wailing, the shreds of rationality urged him to go for the last one. And so -

"Uh, _technically_ the right person _did_ drink the Elixir", he mumbled uncertainly and trembled slightly, sighting a pair of _(extremely tacky)_ white high boots walking past his hideout.

He could almost hear his mother raise an eyebrow.

"Well, apart from Zack, the Elixir was also drunk by..." he quickly counted on his shaking fingers, almost jumping out of his skin at the sound of the lift's door whooshing open "other nine men." Then, hesitantly, after a small pause "and one dog", he added darkly and all sounds in the whole Midgar died down so his dramatic whisper could echo in defying silence, properly expressing the horrific meaning behind his words.

Devilishly red high heels hurried down the corridor, leaving ashes and a faint odor of sulfur on their wake, and heart-breaking, helplessly longing barking of a condemned being could be heard in the distance.

Completely missing the current catastrophe's gravity, Miss Strife burst out laughing.

He couldn't believe it.

"_Cloud, sweetie"_, she began, chuckling _"I know you have many, yet undiscovered talents, but honestly, how did you do that?"_

...Why did he seek his mother for consolation and understanding, again?

"It's not an issue right now!"

"_Okay, okay, no need to pull grumpy five-year-old on me, sweetie"_, she giggled, shamelessly having all too much fun on his expense. _"But tell me, who are those people?"_ she asked in unhealthy curiosity. She seemed suspiciously greedy for this particular piece of information, though Cloud had more pressing matters at hand to wonder about.

"Few higher-ups and ShinRa employees, but it's irrelevant, mom. I need an antidote...-", he whispered feverishly, almost freezing in fright, as steel-toed black boots rounded the corner.

"_I WANT NAMES, CLOUD"_, Miss Strife insisted and when she used that tone, no-one dared to disobey.

And neither did Cloud.

"Some two SOLDIERs I hardly know, two Turks and their superior, Tseng, vice president Rufus -"

"_Does he have silver hair?"_ she cut in, sounding strangely excited.

"- Heidegger... What?" the randomness of the question took him slightly aback. "No mom, he doesn't", he assured her and resumed his previous task to get it over with and move to more important things. "...Hojo and Sephiroth."

"_Oh, but Sephiroth _does_ have silver hair, right?"_

- Rubber boots in floral patterns _(…?)_ hurried to the nearest lift. -

...Seriously, where did it come from?

"Yes, mom, he does, but can we please focus on the _I need an antidote-_part?" he pleaded half annoyed, half anxious – his self-preservation instinct, celebrating the victory over daydreams and teenage drama, claimed that staying in one place for so long made him an easy target.

"_Hmmm... Sephiroth, you say?"_ his mother's voice indicated she was deep in thoughts. And then, apparently reaching a conclusion of some kind, graciously deemed _"__Well, good enough."_

Cloud had no idea what it was all about.

"Mom? Care to enlighten me...?" he asked hesitantly, not thrilled at all that evidently something had been going on behind his back.

"_Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie"_, she ensured in her default insanely-cheerful tone which wasn't ensuring at all. _"So, you were saying, about the antidote...?"_

"I need it as soon as possible", he pressed. Among many other things discarded in his present residence of underneath the desk, to his mild embarrassment and endless disgust, along with a sense of foreboding, he discovered a used condom.

"_That would be a problem."_

"WHAT?" he freaked out and rightfully so. The receiver creaked painfully under his fingers.

"_Transcontinental post is very slow"_, she obligingly offered an elaboration.

"Then, how much in advance have you sent the Elixir?" he wondered, puzzled. Suddenly he became so engrossed in the conversation he lost track of the footwear passing by, choosing the worst possible timing to let his guards down and forget about the dangers of being a prey on far too many predators' territory.

Because it was around that time an extremely suspicious pair of shoes came to a rapid halt, while leisurely strolling down the corridor, and froze in a spot which accidentally happened to be right in front of the desk – but let's not get ahead with the story.

"_You see, two days ago a group of ShinRa engineers and scientists fortunately happen to come check on our Reactor..."_

Fortunately, indeed.

No, actually _too_ fortunately to pass as a simple coincidence. Not that Cloud was a fan of conspiracy theories, though he could almost smell this characteristic, sweetly-malicious odor, a trace left by The Fate messing up with the things' natural flow.

(Fate denied its involvement.)

"And you terrorized them into making a delivery?" he asked incredulously.

"_That's not how I remember it"_, she defended and then, having recalled what this conversation was supposed to be about in the first place _"so, about the Elixir. I g__uess it'll be faster, if you just brew it yourself."_

...Because that was exactly what Cloud needed as a cherry on top of everything else.

No, he wasn't going to start panicking or _angsting_, or feeding up his inner turmoil. At this point all he desperately _yearned for_ was the floor to mercifully swallow him whole, spiky hair and boots included, and some stray meteor hit his imaginary _damn flower's field.

* * *

_

At least, there was this silent agreement shared by the potion brewers from all around the Planet – if you want to be creative and come up with a new elixir, go ahead, be our guest; but if its effect is likely to cause chaos and destruction, and collective psychosis, to ensure no reckless idiot will get his hands on it, make the brewing process so complicated and difficult it wouldn't be worth anyone's while. Though, in case said idiot will, still, somehow be able to get it (because the world is full of mysteries and all around unusual things are happening), the antidote's recipe is ought to be simple enough, so even those... not bright ones won't find it challenging to prepare.

So the first serious problem was getting necessary ingredients.

With a heavy sigh – yes, one of those everyone around became accustomed to, though, once he realized that pathetic sound escaped from his lips yet again, he quickly covered his mouth in fright someone he'd rather not come across without the antidote ready to pour down his throat might have heard that – neatly folded a rumpled Turtle's Paradise notice – it was laying abandoned next to the trash bin, and he needed anything to scribble down the recipe on, so he figured he can bestow his care upon it – and hid it in his uniform pocket's relative safety. How he was supposed to get the ingredients, he had no idea since with his regular and extra duties he was practically confined in ShinRa Tower.

...So maybe his mother did point out a possibility of shamelessly taking advantage of all those men currently _under influence_,but what was left of Cloud's pride, in the midst of the world end's prelude, refused to be damaged like that – by pleading with a pretty smile or a pout. Nope, he didn't reach that level of desperation just yet.

He got there soon enough, though – like, fifteen seconds later, when he was crawling from underneath the desk on all fours – and upon the sound of a flirtatious and undoubtedly _male_ voice, he decided there were more important things than pride, after all.

"Oh baby, you shouldn't tempt me like that."

He froze. His previous, barely soothed panic was creeping back in place with its long, black, spider-like legs and Cloud's stomach churned upon their unpleasant touch, feeling much like a small, defenseless fly caught in a web – and that simile seemed oddly fitting, at the moment.

_If you won't look_, his inner-voice, this time the one in charge of Cloud's wishful thinking, instructed him patiently,_ he will disappear. Nothing to worry about._

And Cloud was going to do just that – and who knew, maybe he would have even got up and peacefully wandered elsewhere, pretending there was nothing alarming in the fact he just had been hearing voices – but, to his rising terror, his traitorous second cervical vertebra suddenly got a mind on its own and before he could force his muscles to work _voluntarily_, the axis had already turned his head.

Behind him, giving his raised butt a tender look, stood Reno.

Cloud almost had a heart attack.

Probably shortly after his mind stopped processing the incoming stimuli for a while -

– being too busy with a burning issue of inability to decide how to proceed – should Cloud start screaming, flee to someplace he deemed safe, or just die on the spot, hoping Reno wasn't into some disturbing perversion (because judging by his look it was hard to tell)? -

- since the next thing he knew, Reno was helping him get up, giving him a helplessly exalted look, while simultaneously his palm, resting in a mock innocence on the small of his back, was slowly sliding somewhere lower.

"Did it hurt?" Reno inquired gently, staring at him intently and -

-_ and dear Shiva and other Summons' names he didn't care to recall right now_ -

- passionately.

"Did it hurt, when you fell from heaven?"

...And just like that, the dread getting ready to swallow him whole evaporated, leaving Cloud in disbelieving, blinking state, because it was the most cheesy line he had ever heard in his whole, sixteen-year-old life and if anyone dared to point out it wasn't saying much, then it was ought to be reminded he spend those years watching Wutaian soap operas – and that alone gave him authority which should not be questioned.

Silence was stretching from seconds to minutes now and Cloud panicked once it occurred to him he was actually expected to say something in response.

And well, it just happened. Had the circumstances been different, those words would have never wormed their way out of his lips, but once the chain reaction was initiated, there was no way to prevent it.

Reno leered (what was typical of him, by the way).

Cloud twitched, nervously (what was quite understandable, giving, well, _everything_).

Reno pitched his butt (and even though it's such an unpredictable turning point it the story, let's try to hold the collective gasp of complete, utter surprise).

Cloud almost jumped out of his skin (thankfully, _almost_ is a crucial part here).

Reno leaned forward in a disturbingly fast motion, making it painfully clear what he intended to do (because he wasn't the one to beat about the bush).

Distressed, in a desperate attempt to prevent inevitable, Cloud uttered first random thing his scattered thoughts were freely circling around "Will you bring me buttermilk, please?"

For a moment the entity of universe collapsed upon itself, wondering whether the great narrator's hypothetical being was high on something.

* * *

Yay for absurd cliffhangers.


End file.
